The Detective and the Boy
by Miss Doll
Summary: No cord or cable can draw so forcibly, or bind so fast, as love can do with a single thread." -Robert Burton; yaoi


The Detective and the Boy

I do not own Death Note, nor its characters.

1. Differences

"I want you too."

The world imploded from four words too perfect for his ears to hear. Angels whispered into the boy's ears and he moved closer to the detective.

"I really do want you...you must believe me."

Vibrations struck the detective like the fingers of a harpist and so sweet the sound that he almost didn't register it for what it was. He turned to the boy, his locks whipping around in a swift motion. The life of his love reflected in the delicate eyes of this, this mere child, and there seemed not even a feather's chance that he could change it.

The boy smiled, naive to all that plagued the detective. He thought of love as flowers and happy faces, not that of the twisted thing it was. Who could blame him? The world was far too sweet anyways, too sweet a place for such a hideous thing like love to reside. The detective edged his legs closer to his body. He was feeling too exposed right now anyway.

Traveling faster than a speeding bullet come the words that dripped with poison, not from their speaker, but from what they shall do to the listener. Ripping through the silence comes the question the detective wished not to answer.

"Do you truly believe that wanting and loving are different?"

Yes, they are. Love was a simple emotion tossed around by puberty struck children. Want was an unearthly sort of thing that somehow dug itself into the human psyche as being to same as love, which it wasn't. The question soaked up the room's air, making it stifling to be in. The detective chewed on his thumb, the skin tender and easily broken by the contact.

(So similar, he thought mildly, the boy and his skin. It actually frightened him a trifle.)

The words hung above them, the boy looking at the detective, expecting an answer. Yet the detective had none to give. Answers were in such short supply these days, he thought boredly, so little for the many questions that were left around unanswered.

"I suppose," the detective said finally, receiving a sigh from the boy, "That if you put them in the correct context, that want and love could be mistaken for the same thing, but I highly doubt that they are or ever were similar." The boy rolled onto his back and stared at the detective.

"I'm tired now. Let's sleep."

The detective watched as the boy huddled into the blankets before lying down himself. Softly, the boy reached over and placed the detective's arms around him. The detective felt him nudge closer until he pressed himself upon the chest of the detective. With a satisfied breath, he fell promptly to sleep, curled up in the embrace of the detective.

The darkness descended in the room and the soft breathing of the boy brought balance back to the once light-less room. The detective sighed and resigned himself to sleep until morning.

2. Playing Havoc

It seemed like each step that was taken by the detective was directly (or sometimes indirectly, depending on the date or time that he took said step) influenced by what ever the boy did or wanted. He didn't like this. He didn't like that one look from the boy could send all that he had planed into chaos, everything rented for the sake of that look from the boy. It was illogical, it was insensible, it was like nothing the detective had ever experienced. Before, his choices had been his, now they had become hinged on what ever way the boy turned. If the wind did not blow the boy's way, the detective had no choice but do everything in his power to blow it to him. To lose himself to someone, to find himself not only gone, but enjoying this wish to make things perfect for another human being was making the detective terribly ill with confusion.

"May I have that other file?"

A quick turn to the right and stars exploded in the mind of the detective as into his vision came the source of his semi-panic. A curve of the lips sent him reeling and he hadn't the slightest idea why. Could it be a chemical reaction? Perhaps, but further observation and research was needed…

"I asked for the file. Are you okay?"

The detective nodded and hand to the boy the file in question, therefore ceasing the distraction from his pondering on the subject of his feelings. What was going on? All that was needed was a tug, tug on his little puppet string and he did as the boy asked, in that sweet, sweet, sweet voice of his. He could dominate all he wanted, but it was obvious to all who looked that the boy held the keys to the detective's heart and, therefore, held the power to make the detective do as he pleased. All with the charm of his eyes and the tilt of his lips. A simple look and soon, havoc began to take hold of the detective and make him helpless to the boy's wills.

The boy turned his head over to the detective and smiled disarmingly, showing his pretty little white teeth. He bit his lip and looked over at the clock. Turning once more, he leaned into the detective, nuzzling the detective's neck. He wrapped his arms around the detective's neck and pulled himself closer until he was taken into the embrace of the detective's pale limbs. He looked up at the detective and simpering said:

"Let's snuggle,'kay?"

The detective nodded and took the boy closer into his arms. He could not help it. He needed the boy there, to tell him when to hold him, to tell him what he needed, to tell him what to do. He just could not say no, not when he had him in his arms, up against his chest in the most pleasant of ways, all his warmth and all the detective's warmth becoming just one lovely feeling between them. Why, he wondered, did he need this? Why did he need the boy right with him all the time, to have his body right there as a small reminder that someone loved him?

Whatever it was, he wouldn't mind very much if he could just keep the boy here. For the almost insane reasoning of love, he wanted the boy to yank and pull, play havoc with his heart strings in that most appealing fashion.

3. Star Light, Star Bright

The boy supposed he should have been asleep, but he much rathered to pretend long enough for the detective to fall asleep so that he could crawl his fingers up the pale arms of his lover, walking them like little legs up his forearms. He stared at the detective and frowned. Did he love him?

The question, like a snake, hideous and sneaky, had crawled into the boy's mind weeks ago, nibbling at him when ever he looked at his detective (because that was what he was, HIS detective, not any one else's). Why did it feel like he was the only one cuddling when they lay on the floor during lunch breaks? Why did it feel like those kisses were almost one sided, that the boy was the one loving and the detective was an observer instead of a participant? Why, why, WHY? The boy growled tiredly and buried his head in the detective's chest, casually huddling closer to the body he loved to have near him, above him, all wrapped around him during his coldest nights, nights when he felt alone, just needing a human's touch to relieve the feeling. Why could he not rid himself of the feeling that the detective felt nothing for him, that he was the only one putting effort into the relationship? It was like a plant taking root, never leaving that corner of his mind where he could not stand to reach, but always seemed too.

The stars above twinkled in the sky, as the boy could see from the window. The moon cast its pale shadow across the bed, a thin ray of moonlight slicing through the darkness of the room. The boy looked up at the silver spotted sky, and wondered if the stars could hear his wishes from all the way up there. What would he wish for? A car? Maybe a normal life? To be cleared of suspicion and be able to just be in love with the detective instead of at war? He bit his lip. The world was filled with far too many questions and hardly any answers, at least not to his questions. He frowned and looked up at the snoozing face of the detective. Was he blind and deaf to all that plagued the boy, as the boy felt he was? So many things he wanted know, he thought, tracing the letters of his name on the chest of his detective, so little things he did. It wasn't at all fair.

"_I wish I may,"_

If only he could just be given something, something he could understand.

"_I wish I might,"_

Then maybe it would be just a smidgen different. Just a little something so he could know if the detective felt like he did.

"_Have this wish I wish tonight."_

The stars twinkled above in the sky, while the boy decided to forget and just impress the memory of the detective's sweet smell in his mind forever. Maybe, echoed in his mind, maybe, maybe, maybe…

4. Who is and Who isn't

He liked to think he wasn't a very biased person, but sometimes, he really just wanted the boy all to himself. It was like a secret club, just himself and the boy, where it was only them and no one else. Together, they played a little game called Who is and Who isn't.

Who is in on the secret? No one.

Who isn't in on the secret? Not you, or you, or you, or you! Oh what fun, it is just us again. Let's play that once more shall we, my love?

Who is and who isn't. What a rather nasty thing it was sometimes. If the boy was particularly angry one day at a specific person, he would play a very mean game, sneering at the names in a rude manner. But all he needed was a cuddle, a wrap around of the arms of the detective and he would relax and lean back and be at once at peace with all that was and ever would be. The detective would stroke his hair and nuzzle against the boy's neck. The quiet would infect the room and suddenly, it felt very nice for it to just be them in the secret club that existed without existing.

He prayed to himself that he never became one of the Who isn'ts for the boy, but who knew with a person who's feelings changed with the direction of the wind.

5. Window Panes

He's been looking out the window too much. He can see the people and insects and the birds all flutter by while he stays in with nothing but the quiet taping of a keyboard to keep him from going crazy from the frenzied silence that will never stop. He pressed himself against the window, the cool glass contrasting the warmth that exuded from his body. He wanted to be out there, he wanted to be with those people.

The soft taping from the key board hit him like raindrops, steadily increasing and decreasing, forever and ever. The detective slipped his arms around his waist and soon he found himself in the detective's arms, limp and huddled against him. The boy spayed his hand over the detective's heart and looked up at the solemn face of his detective. His eyes were like the window pane, you could see through them only what was obviously there. To look closer would destroy your soul, so he was never allowed to look closely in. He wondered if perhaps he might be able to, eventually.

Being carried was remarkably wonderful, because he felt like his feet couldn't touch the ground in the embrace of his strong detective's arms. Feeling weak did not bother him, so long as the detective loved him. He frowned and bit his lip.

Was it okay to love the detective and want him with the boy and also wish to be outside the window panes?

6. Ever After

It was dark, and that was all that the detective could say about that. The ending was a dark and horrible place, a place where people you loved turned against you, a place where good was evil and evil was good, a place of nothing and a place of everything. The detective felt like a torn up piece of paper now, one the boy had tired of and thrown away. How long had he been here, how many days, years, months? Was he missed?

The shimmering shadows whispered no answers, for there were far too little for all his questions.

It was forever before someone showed up, the days filled with thoughts of what he would say when met with the boy again (for he was sure fate would prove cruel and force him to see the boy again) and what he would do. The someone was wandering, crying loudly and profusely. They seemed to be trying to become as small as possible, so that no one could see or recognize them. The detective went closer and saw what proved to be the boy, huddled up to nothing in deep sorrow.

His mouth went dry, for none of the poisonous words he had thought of before would run free from his lips. He could not hurt the boy, not even if he tried. Something inside him was stronger than his hate, something gripped him tighter. The boy peeked up from his sobbing self embrace and his face was shattered like glass fallen from that of a mirror. Each fragile piece of the boy was lost among the darkness, and the detective was loath to find every piece (For, you see, every piece wasn't as important as maybe one certain piece. It all depended on the piece, for some were good and some were bad, and some couldn't decide.). Tears were splattering against the floors and made small oceans of sadness.

"I never meant to have this happen…"

Our mistakes will always follow us, thought the detective, as he gathered the boy in his arms once more. Leaning on him, the boy whispered softly to the detective apology after apology. The detective silenced him with his finger and pulled his face up with his thumb and forefinger.

"Things do not always turn out the way we want them too."

A kiss can be just a kiss, but right now it was more than just a kiss. It was a want, it was a love, it was Who is, it was outside of the window pane, it was an answer to every question, all in one searing kiss. The world imploded upon them and colors of all sorts surrounded the pleasant couple. Lips locked destroyed what had kept them apart, the wall that was gone for good when touched by that of a loving hand.

And they both died happily ever after.

the end

A.N.

Music listened to while writing:

I want to hold your hand – The Beatles

Strawberry fields forever – The Beatles

Rainy Monday – Shiny Toy Guns

Self Inflicted – Katy Perry

Sunburn – Muse

This took infuriating long to write.

Please reviews…


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